


Where Is My Food? (Sherlock/John, Scorpion Universe)

by buttsnax



Series: Scorpion Universe [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: AU, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Slash, alternative universe, grandular pedipalps, imperatoxin, m/m - Freeform, metasoma, pectines, s/s, scorpion au, scorpionlock, where is my food
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-31
Updated: 2013-08-31
Packaged: 2017-12-25 05:57:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/949441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttsnax/pseuds/buttsnax
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the Scorpion Universe John and Sherlock are gay scorpions living in a terrarium.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where Is My Food? (Sherlock/John, Scorpion Universe)

It was noon, and the glass terrarium at 221B Baker Street was a comfortable 85 degrees F with a humidity level of 68 percent—perfect conditions for laying still and waiting for food to appear. John and Sherlock sat patiently, the organs within their cold-blooded prosomas maintaining homeostasis.  
  
But food did not appear.  
  
“I’m hungry,” said Sherlock, who was resting inside an artificial log. Sherlock was an Emperor Scorpion whose mother had been captured by exotic pet traders from deep within the Senegal rainforest, his species’ natural habitat. His seven-inch body glinted black under the make-shift covering, his robust and impressive pincers at ease after half an hour of strenuous burrow-digging followed by half an hour of gay scorpion sex.  
  
“So am I,” said John, who was also an Emperor Scorpion but had been bred in captivity at a scorpion farm. John was hiding beneath some sphagnum moss atop the tank’s three-to-six-inch bed of vermiculite, helping him retain moisture from his environment. Their 20-gallon tank home was large enough to accommodate two full-sized gay scorpions but small enough to enable them to easily catch their prey. _If_ there was any prey to catch.  
  
“Do you see any food?” asked Sherlock, who considered venturing out from his hiding place but for now remained still. He did not want to risk being eaten by predators and cutting short his life span of six-to-eight years.  
  
“No,” John responded. “Do you?” John was only six inches in length, which was still large by scorpion standards, but boasted a handsome metasoma that tapered into a sharp stinger containing imperatoxin, which he used to subdue his enemies. Sherlock was fond of John’s stinger.  
  
“I’m hungry,” said Sherlock again, after a moment. He began to scoot backward out from under the log. “I want to eat now.”  
  
“Me too,” agreed John, crawling out from under his mossy burrow. He took a moment to admire Sherlock’s set of granular pedipalps, remembering the way Sherlock’s claws had caressed his exoskeleton just hours earlier. But an evolutionary imperative to eat drew his mind back to the matter at hand. Where was their food?  
  
Sherlock and John slowly moved about the tank, investigating every burrow and overturning every chip of bark in search of clues as to where their food might be. After an exhausting fifteen minutes of searching, they stopped to rest under the shadow of a broken pot, made from adobe. If a predator approached they would find safety behind its protective face. Hunting for food and digging burrows was dangerous work, but as gay scorpion detectives Sherlock and John accepted the challenge without complaint. This was their life now.  
  
“I wonder where our food is,” pondered John aloud. Sherlock said nothing, deep in thought. The pectines on the underside of Sherlock’s hind legs were on full display, a sign his scorpion mind was hard at work.  
  
“I’m hungry,” said Sherlock, finally. “Do you see any food?” Scorpions have poor memories.  
  
Suddenly vibrations rocked the tank. John and Sherlock raised their stingers and crawled behind the broken pot, ready to defend themselves from their attacker. After a moment the vibrations stopped, and Sherlock and John took this as an opportunity to investigate further.  
  
Using the microhairs that lined their pincers and metasoma, they detected several small insects, most likely crickets judging by the erratic nature of their movements.  
  
“I sense food,” deduced Sherlock, emerging from behind the pot. “We will eat now.”  
  
John and Sherlock methodically covered the length of the tank, stealthily ensnaring their prey with their venomous tails. After they had eaten their fill, they were no longer hungry, and spent the remainder of the day resting beneath various surfaces and having gay scorpion sex.


End file.
